


Monster Under the Bed

by WaitingForMy



Series: Imaginary Friend [2]
Category: IT (2017), IT - Stephen King
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-28
Updated: 2018-05-28
Packaged: 2019-05-15 01:19:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14780916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaitingForMy/pseuds/WaitingForMy
Summary: You meet the monster under your bed, and neither of you are quite what the other expected.





	Monster Under the Bed

**Author's Note:**

> Prequel to Red.

“Try talking to it; maybe it wants to be your friend.”

Those were the words that saved your life, on a hot August night when you were six years old. They came out of your father’s mouth slurred with sleep and a little bit frustrated. The digital clock on his nightstand glowed “1:21 AM” in red letters.

“Try talking to it; maybe it wants to be your friend.”

“Oh.” You hadn’t thought of that! Just because there was something underneath your bed didn’t mean it wanted to hurt you. Maybe it was just shy. Your innocent, young brain understood what it meant to be shy. Ms. K, your Kindergarten teacher, had talked to your class about it (You were about to start first grade, and you loved to tell everyone about it). “Okay, Daddy!”

So you padded back to your room on your little bare feet, giggling at the way the frills on your red pajamas swished around your ankles. You knelt down beside your bed and pulled the edge of your quilt up like a curtain at a theatre. “Monster?” you whispered to the darkness.

For a long moment, there was nothing. Your little heart sank, wondering if the shy monster had left. Or what if you had hurt its feelings by running away? Oh no; You would feel terrible! It was bad to hurt people’s feelings. Ms. K said so.

Just when you were about to give up, the monster’s glowing, yellow eyes opened.

* * *

As a general rule, It considered the “Monster Under the Bed” act to be beneath it. The act was too easy and lacked its signature morbid creativity. Sometimes, however, like when it was particularly hungry at the beginning of the feeding cycle, that was precisely what made Monster Under the Bed the perfect act. A quick scare and an easy meal would give it the energy it needed to seek out better prey, so it donned its favorite form, and Pennywise the Dancing Clown appeared beneath a little girl’s bed. Too easy. Textbook.

But it wasn’t so, and that infuriated, disgusted, and intrigued Pennywise all at once.

The act had started out well enough. All it took was a little rustling to wake the girl up. She peered over the edge of the bed, messy hair falling on the floor, and nervously - no, _fearfully_ \- took in her upside-down view of the void beneath the bed. A flash of his yellow eyes sent her running for her parents. Just as well, the fact that the parents couldn’t see him usually only added to children’s fear. All he had to do was wait a few more minutes…

But when the little girl came running back, all that delicious fear was gone, replaced by...something else.

But _how?_ This wasn’t how it was supposed to go! This was supposed to be an easy kill! Six year olds were perfect targets: Just old enough to recognize a threat, but not old enough will it away with logic. A child who knew there was no such thing as monsters under the bed was a fun challenge, but not what Pennywise needed right now. He was awake, he was _hungry_ , and this little brat’s innocent bravery felt like a personal slap to the face.

 _Your_ innocent bravery. Your _acceptance,_ your _affection._

“Monster?”

Disgusting.

But oh my, so interesting.

Pennywise opened his eyes and took in your tiny form. Of course, he saw children all the time, but he rarely _looked_ in earnest. You were _tiny_ , all big eyes and soft skin and messy hair. Your pink lips formed a tiny heart that drew into a heart-melting smile when your eyes met the monster’s.

“Are you shy?” you asked.

He could still scare you, if he tried. He could still drag you under the bed and devour you. Hell, even if he couldn’t scare you, fearless meat was better than no meat at all.

But then again, he had never encountered a situation like this. What would happen if he played along? Surely, after twenty-seven years, he could survive another night without eating, so curiosity won out and Pennywise returned your smile. “Oh, yes I am, very shy.”

“We can be friends, if you want,” you suggested. “Then, you won’t have to be shy!”

His smile deepened. “Yesss. Let’s be friends.”

You backed up as the monster slithered out from under the bed, and you really saw each other for the first time. You started laughing - a light, shattering (disgusting) sound that made the whole room feel brighter. “You’re not a monster; you’re just a clown!”

Pennywise sat cross-legged in front of you. “Indeed, I am a clown!” He laughed back at you. “But I’m not _just_ a clown; I’m Pennywise the Dancing Clown! And who are you?”

“I’m [YN], and I’m going to be in first grade,” you said with a beaming grin.

“First grade?” Pennywise repeated. “Why, that’s practically all grown-up!”

“No, it’s not.”

“Yes, it is! Think: Before you know it, you’ll be in second grade, then third, then fourth, then fifth then sixth then seventh eighth ninth tentheleventhtwelfth and then?”

“And then I’ll be a grown-up!” you agreed.

“And then you’ll be a grown-up. But I hope that doesn’t happen too fast. Grown-ups don’t want to play with clowns.” Pennywise pouted, letting his shoulders and his gaze droop for effect.

You shook your head and crawled towards him, putting one of your tiny hands on his arm. “I will,” you said resolutely. “I will _always_ want to play with you.”

Pennywise felt his deadlights flicker, and he tried not to let his eyes go red. It was as if his entire universe had suddenly been reduced to a single, _tiny_ handprint on his forearm. What were you _doing?_ And what was he supposed to do about it? He wasn’t used to contact that wasn’t rough and meant to destroy.

Children were naïve, and children were kind, but above all, children were blank. They were mirrors. Children sometimes mimicked the comforting words and actions of their parents and role models. Hell, some children even mimicked Pennywise’s mannerisms, in those precious few moments before he killed them. His sadness at the thought of you growing up, albeit feigned for your benefit, should have reflected as sadness. You didn’t reflect. You were smiling. You were comforting. You were _loving._

You were _fearless._

(You, for your part, felt red where your hand met his arm)

Pennywise brushed your hand off his arm and held it in both of his, and he looked at you again, deeply and intentionally. You were so soft and round and pure. He wanted to destroy that. He wanted to protect that. Where he had deadlights, you had a soul, and it was wide open, free, and willing, and strong. You were a sledgehammer disguised as a china doll. You were a spark ready to grow into a forest fire, and he knew that if he played with you, he was going to get burned.

He grinned. “What do you like to play, [YN]?”

Your big, round eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “I like to read!”

“Me, too!” Pennywise laughed. “Would you like to read with me, [YN]? You can pick the book.”

You nodded excitedly, almost frantically, before darting over to the little shelf under the window. Without thought or hesitation, you chose a thin hardback with a light pink cover and returned to the clown.

Pennywise tensed when you climbed into his lap and leaned your back against his chest. What the hell? Children were supposed to fear him, not use him as their personal beanbag! And yet, there you were, and you were just so damn fascinating that Pennywise couldn’t bring himself to mind. He took the pink book in his hands. “ _Beauty and the Beast_ , huh?”

“It’s my favorite!” you told him, leaning your head back to look up at him. Damn it all to Hell, you were cute. “You turn the pages, and I’ll read it.”

Pennywise blinked a few times before he came to his senses and opened the book. Your full name, middle and all, was written messily on the inside of the cover in red crayon. Pennywise pointed at it. “What does that say?” he asked, pretending he couldn’t read.

You giggled. “That’s just my name! [YN] [MN] [LN].”

“[YN] [MN] [LN],” he repeated.

He flipped to the next page, and you began, “Once upon a time…”

* * *

Your father made his way down the hallway through the haze of sleep, towards the sound of your little voice. He supposed he brought this on himself. Maybe he should have just let you sleep in his and your mother’s room.

When he reached your room, however, any frustration he may have had melted away. He leaned against the doorway, taking a moment to drink in the precious sight of you sitting on the floor with your favorite book. He chuckled softly at your silliness; it was far too dark to read. “Who are you talking to, [YN]?”

You looked up at him, your face silhouetted by moonlight like the silver lining of a cloud. “My friend.”

“Well, tell your friend it’s late and you need to go to sleep.” You father took the book from your hands and closed it, sliding it onto your nightstand. “You can finish your book tomorrow.” He picked you up under your arms and set you back in bed, tucking you in.

You looked at something in the middle of your room. “Why can’t he see you?”

* * *

You could see Pennywise’s smile behind the light of his eyes, which provided the only substantial illumination in the room. “ _Because I don’t want him to._ ”

“Goodnight, [YN].” Your father kissed your forehead. “Try to get some sleep.”

Your father exited the room and closed the door behind him, and Pennywise replaced him at your bedside. “Will you come back tomorrow?” you asked hopefully.

The clown smirked and ran his gloved fingertips down the side of your gentle, unblemished face. “I’ll come back, soon, my little girl,” he promised.

Your eyes fluttered closed, and you fell asleep to the feeling of his hands on your skin, under the glow of what you didn’t know then were deadlights.


End file.
